


Might As Well Make It Bleed

by amathela



Category: In Plain Sight
Genre: F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn Battle, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-26
Updated: 2010-07-26
Packaged: 2017-11-16 17:48:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/542169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amathela/pseuds/amathela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marshall tries to talk Mary down.  She has other ideas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Might As Well Make It Bleed

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers up to episode _2:1 - Gilted Lily_.

They're walking until they're not, stopping on the far side of the tracks, and Marshall doesn't say anything, not until she does. He can see Mary cracking, convinced she's losing her mind because this is something she can't control; he's long ago given up trying to control anything (especially when she's around) so he tries to talk her down, metaphors and fucking rivers and acceptance and _it's perfectly normal_ , like it's something he thinks she'll actually believe. And she's listening until she's not, until she's pushing him back against the wall and he almost thinks she wants to fight until she looks at him -

(He knows that look; he can feel it every time he looks at her like that, count on more than two hands the times he's imagined her looking back at him, but he never thought it would really happen, not like this, maybe not at all.)

\- and he gets it. Not fighting. Fighting would have been easier. Safer, even if she'd cracked a couple of his ribs in the process.

She looks at him, and maybe (definitely) he should be stopping her, but it's not his first instinct. She leans in close, cupping his face in her hands (like she did the almost-first time, the accidentally-not-fake time), and he's going to hell because he can pretend it all happened in a rush and he doesn't remember as much as he likes, but - he kisses her first.

(He kisses her first because it was always going to happen like that; she pushes him and she provokes him and she never gives anything up, ever, but maybe he's the only one of them who can step over this particular line.)

He kisses her first, but she kisses him second, hard, like she's got something to prove. And he lets her - lets her do this her way, because maybe it's not what she needs but it definitely seems to be what she wants ( _for now_ , and he's happy with that if that's all this is -

That's a total lie, and he knows it.)

And because he can feel her, all of her, pressed up against all of him, and dirty warehouse district or not she's still Mary, and he wants her like he wants to breathe. So he moves his hands down, grips her waist, and she's reaching for him, pressing closer, insistent -

"Mary," he says, and he's a little proud of himself for being able to speak, even if it doesn't come out sounding remotely like normal. He'd move back, give them both space, except she has him pretty well pinned against the wall and he's not stupid enough to try going through her, so he puts his hands on her shoulders, instead, rests his forehead against hers.

(He just. He needs to cool off, needs this to be _something_. At least something more than it is right now, a quick fuck up against a wall to exorcise her inner demons, but he knows -

He needs more than this, but he'll take what she's willing to give.)

"Slow down," he breathes, and he should mean _stop_ but he doesn't. He's supposed be thinking straight for the both of them. Right now, he's barely thinking at all.

"No," she says, and she's pushing him harder against the wall, the back of his head scraping against the bricks and a dull metallic taste in his mouth like maybe he bit his tongue. And she's kissing him again, so hard it hurts, and he's definitely bleeding somewhere but it's not like it matters because he can't say no -

(Can't, or won't; maybe both, or maybe they're the same damn thing.)

"Okay," he says, _okay_ , and then he's kissing her back, and he hates himself for it a little. (More than a little.) And then she's moving her hands down, pressing into him, and he almost forgets to. She doesn't slow down for this either, already working at his belt, and Marshall hates that he's hard already, hates that he's practically aching for her and tomorrow she's going to know this was a huge mistake and she's going to know he let her do it anyway.

(She's a big girl, he thinks, she can make her own decisions. It doesn't help.)

He stops her when she gets his belt undone, wishes he were drawing a line instead of just getting comfortable. He kisses her, as gently as he thinks he can get away with, and spins them around until she's the one with her back against the wall. It surprises him that she lets him take charge, even this much, but not for long; she's been doing it all day, smiling and quipping and being _nice_ , and he's trying really, really hard to believe this is some kind of life-affirming thing instead of the other kind.

When he pulls his zipper down, it sounds impossibly loud in his ears, but he barely notices Mary pulling down her pants until he's pressing into her, finding nothing but warm flesh. He wants to ask her if she's sure, if she's thought this all the way through, but there's a look in her eyes like that would be a mistake, and he doesn't get a chance, anyway, before she's wrapping her hand around him, guiding him into her, and -

 _God_. He doesn't stop, barely even pauses, and then she's arching into him and he's thrusting forward, bracing his hands on the rough brick to steady himself. He doesn't last long, not when she opens her eyes and looks at him, and he bites back her name as he comes, circling her clit with his thumb until she follows him, breathing raggedly and sweating in the still midday air. And then he closes his eyes, and just for a moment, he can almost drown out everything except for the fact that she's here, flush against him, until he has to give it up.

Afterwards, she's pulling up her pants like nothing happened, not quite looking at him but not avoiding his gaze, either. And he doesn't say _got it all out of your system?_ because he's not trying to be cruel, even if it's genuine concern. Instead, he places a hand almost on the small of her back, waits for the half-smile that lets him know she's still there, and lets her lead the way home.


End file.
